


Tin Soldiers

by solidaritysandwichandpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x23 coda, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:32:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solidaritysandwichandpie/pseuds/solidaritysandwichandpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short coda for 8x23. Dean has a broken angel and a broken brother on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to 8x23. Originally posted to tumblr and unbeta'd. Comments are welcome.

Angels fall from the sky, streaks of brilliant light against the blackness and you look up, swallowing your bitterness and your fear and wonder if he’s among them. You hold your brothers frail body and call his name. No answer. You curse and try to keep the tears back. You grunt and shift, standing, dragging Sam up with you. You fold your brother’s limp frame into the car and call for him one more time, waiting a couple of beats before you rev the engine and make towards the highway.

You watch the hood of your car swallowing up the dashed yellow line of the road and glance at Sam’s shuddering form sprawled in the backseat. You almost don’t see the familiar figure trudging along the shoulder towards you, tan trench coat fluttering in the breeze. For a moment you keep on driving, heart hammering in your chest. When you look in the rear view mirror you think you see him turn and fall to his knees, staring after you.

He’s standing when you come back, though he’s swaying on his feet and he looks more bereft than you’ve ever seen him. Eyes downcast and immeasurably sad, brow furrowed in grief, shoulders slumped, bearing the weight of the fall, the weight of thousands of falls. “Dean..” he croaks out and you try to ignore the way his voice breaks. Wordlessly, you wrap your arm around his waist. He shivers and leans against you as you pull him close, almost stumbling under his weight. You never noticed how heavy he was before, you wonder as you drag him towards the car if guilt and grief can add physical weight to a person. Or maybe it’s the fact that now he’s an actual person, not a being of light and air, maybe that’s why he seems heavier now. You help him to the backseat of the Impala and gently lower him into the car where he collapses against Sam. The two of them gravitate towards each other. Two broken things seeking comfort.

You slide into the driver’s seat and pull away from the shoulder, point the Impala towards home. Your eyes keep straying to the backseat, they are sprawled, slumped against one another, Sam’s head lolling against Castiel’s shoulder. He’s pale and bruised and looks like he went nine rounds with the Devil, again. Cas’s head is leaning against the headrest, eyes fixed on the ceiling, breath hitching in little gasps occasionally. He’s pale and, even from here, you can see him shaking. You fight back the urge to punch the steering wheel, cursing both of your fathers. Fathers who created soldiers instead of something else. Fathers who aren’t around to fix the creatures they broke.

You watch the sleek black hood of your car eat up the miles of the highway and feel the power of the engine thrum through the chassis and up through your feet and wonder how you’re going to fix them this time. It’s the same old dance, you’ll try to piece them back together and hold your breath, waiting for them to fall apart again. Maybe this is penance. Penance for all of those souls you took apart. Your hands flex on the steering wheel and you reach for the knobs of the heater and twist them back and forth just for something to do. You wonder why the three of you can’t ever seem to manage to get it right. You scrub your hand over the two day old stubble on you face and wonder if it is the way it will always be.


End file.
